


The Fall

by centreoftheselights



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, Suicide Attempt, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centreoftheselights/pseuds/centreoftheselights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A girl stands on a clifftop, remembering how her life fell to pieces. Will she be able to put it back together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Losing Him

The girl stood alone on the clifftop, the wind tangling her hair and tugging at her shawl.

She looked down at the rocks below.

She wondered how it had come to this.

 

"The child shall marry a monster."

It was the soothsayer's words that had changed her life forever.

She had always been a good-looking child, but it was as she approached womanhood that she began to learn that men from far and wide would not only praise her looks as beyond compare, but would do so honestly and truly, not just because of her father's power. Princes from across the land clamoured for her hand, calling her Helen reborn.

But Psyche did not want a thousand devoted princes. She definitely did not want the spiteful glares of every woman she met, even her own beloved sister, whose wealthy husband gazed at her unsettlingly. No, all Psyche had ever wanted was to fall in love, and be loved in return.

So she had begged her father not to give her hand to the richest suitor, or the strongest – although determining one such man from so many would have posed its own challenges – but rather to consult the oracle on her fated husband, hoping that the gods might smile on her and grant her what she desired.

But the gods could be cruel as well as kind.

"A terrible monster, winged and fearsome. Yay, feared even among the gods themselves!"

Her father's expression was grave. "What must be done?"

"Take the girl to the mountaintop, to await her wedding."

Her father nodded, and turned away from the oracle.

"Father – I –"

She reached out to take his hand, but he pulled away, and would not look at her. That, more than anything, cut to her very soul.

She understood why. She was cursed now. No man could stand against the power of fate, not even a king.

She was already dead. She just hadn't stopped breathing yet.

Her father strode out of the hall, and she hurried after him.

"Dress her for a wedding, then leave her atop the mountain," he spat at one of the guards.

"Father, wait! I –"

But he did not look back.

She would never see his face again.

 

She had not struggled on the way up the mountain, for what use was there in fighting the will of the gods? She had stood proudly, chin up, as the guards had left her to her fate, and she had waited until they were out of sight to break down, and cry out her fears until she thought she would drown in them.

But no beast arrived, and gradually, the sky grew dark.

She had lain her head on the ground and hoped to never wake.

 

She had woken.

It had taken her a long minute to realise that she was still alive, for she did not wake on the mountaintop. She found herself in a garden, a beautiful one, filled with more plants that she had words to describe – and, try as she might, she could not recall how she had arrived there.

Standing, she discovered herself to be close by a house, a humbly sized abode, but one so richly embellished she was instantly certain that she had never seen it, or its like, before.

Disorientated, and half-wondering if she dreamt, she had made her way inside.

"Psyche!"

The voice, barely more than a whisper over her shoulder, had surprised her, sending her stumbling as she spun to seek its source.

"Don't be afraid!"

The voice came from behind her again, even though she no longer faced the same way. This time, she steadied herself before turning to look. She could see no person, not anywhere in sight.

"This is your home now!"

The third time, Psyche was unsurprised that the voice once again seemed to whisper directly in her ear, although that didn't stop her from flinching slightly. She had heard tales of wind spirits who seemed to move with the ears that listened to them. Whatever this strange place she had wondered into was, it was beyond the world of mortal explanations. She had entered the lands of myth.

"There's a bath waiting for you! Look upstairs!"

She followed the invisible spirit's instructions to the letter that first day, terrified that disobedience would invoke some punishment, but it led her only in the steps of a peaceful life: bathing, and eating, and exploring the house and its beautiful gardens, until the time came for her to undress and lay down her head in the comfort of her new bedroom.

"Good night, Psyche!"

That was the first time she heard a spirit laugh. The sound was as pure and gleeful as a child at play.

She wondered what was so entertaining.

It was only when her eyelids finally drifted shut that she found out.

"Hello, Psyche."

The voice made her jump. This was not the airy, childlike tones of the spirit, but the voice of a man, and as she twisted in the sheets, her eyes strained out a silhouette in the darkness.

The stranger took a hold of her hand, and she tried not to shiver. She wanted to scream, or cry out, but there was no-one here to hear her.

"Do you like my house?"

"Y- yes," she stuttered.

The man chuckled, a gentle, silky sound.

"Don't be afraid," he told her. "I will not hurt you. I am your husband, Psyche."

She gasped, and pulled away.

"What is it?"

She didn't want to answer, but she felt she had to.

"They told me I would marry a monster," she said quietly. "Winged, and feared by the gods themselves."

Her husband laughed, long and hard. "No wonder you are afraid! That… would be a very unusual way of describing me. Although some would claim it was accurate."

She shook involuntarily at the images in her head. In the utter darkness, it was too easy to imagine what could be lying next to her.

As if he had heard her thoughts, the stranger took her hand again, touching her fingertips against his face.

"Feel," he told her, his jaw shifting under her touch. "I am no monster, Psyche."

"You are no man."

The words slipped out before she realised she had said them.

"No." His chuckle created strange vibrations in his expression. "I am afraid I cannot tell you what I am, Psyche, and nor can I show you my face. But know that I love you, and I have no wish to cause you harm."

She ran her hand down his neck, feeling out the trace of his arm and his chest. She couldn't believe what had happened. This time yesterday, she had expected to die, and now –

The kiss took her by surprise. She was more surprised to find herself returning it.

It was everything she had ever wanted, and more.

 

Those glorious, sun-filled days had seemed to last an eternity. Each day, she tended the gardens, or spoke idly with the spirits, and each night – each night, she touched the heavens.

Once or twice, she caught herself wondering if it was truly real – if she still lay on the mountain-top, dreaming, or if she had passed unknowing into Elysium – but then the touch of his skin on hers would bring her shivering back to reality, knowing that neither afterlife nor imagining could possibly make her feel so alive.

And then –

And then she had ruined it all.

"Please," she had begged. "I am so happy. My father believes me dead. Let me tell him it is not so."

"You cannot leave this place," he had warned her. "It is not safe for you."

"My sister," she had pleaded. "Bring her here. She will carry my message."

She had felt his muscles shift beneath her hand, and known he was smiling.

"So it will be."

Her sister had arrived the next day, dazed at first, but soon embracing her like they had never quarrelled. Together, they whiled away the day, until it nearly came time for her sister to depart.

"I am so glad to see you safe, even if your husband is a monster."

"He's no monster!" Psyche had laughed. He was so many things – her husband, her lover, her world – but nothing of him was monstrous.

"The oracle does not lie," her sister had reminded. "And have you ever seen his face?"

"I do not need to." Psyche honestly believed it to be true. She knew every inch of him.

"Then how do you know he is not the monster which stalks our father's kingdom, killing all it finds?"

Psyche had gasped. "Is our father alright?"

"For now," her sister replied darkly. "But you should take care."

Take care…

And thus the seeds of doubt were sown.

 

She had resisted for days, perhaps a month.

But…

The thought of it ate at her.

She wondered: how bad could it truly be? She wondered: what was the worst that could happen? She wondered: what would she see?

Until one night, her resolve crumbled, and she lit the candle beside the bed.

She had never seen anything so beautiful, not even when his eyes opened and filled with fear.

 

"Run."

She had run, because he had asked and she could not help but obey him. She had run as the house had tumbled down around her, as the garden had crumbled into dust, as the ground itself quaked beneath her feet.

No-one was by her side, and no-one slower than she could possibly have survived. She ran even as she wept.

She had run down the mountainside, across the fields, and into the town, until some sudden familiarity had brought her to a halt.

This was her father's kingdom.

She ran to the palace gates, hammering at the doors, begging to be let inside, but the King's daughter was dead, and to the guards she seemed a madwoman, shoeless and barely clothed.

"Please!" she begged. "Tell me at least that the monster has been slain?"

The guards shook their heads, and pushed her away, but she returned until eventually, one of them met her eyes.

"Ma'am, there _is_ no monster."

And it was only then that she realised what she had done. She had torn her life apart, demolished her home and murdered her only love – all over an unfounded fear.

Her sister had told her a lie.

 

And now –

Now she stood on the clifftop, where this had all begun.

She fancied she could see the blood on the rocks below.

It had been so easy, taking her revenge. She would be punished for that, she knew. But she did not care. Her justice had been done.

And now, there was nothing left for her.

She took a deep breath, shut her eyes, and thought of him.

Psyche leapt.


	2. Finding Her

She squeezed her eyes closed against the rushing winds of her descent, waiting for the moment that would end everything, a sharp flash of pain that would finally bring her peace –

No moment came.

She forced her eyes open again, squinting against the sting of the speeding air. Through her tears, she managed to fix her gaze on the stony wall of the mountainside, as stationary as it ever had been. She was not moving.

But if she wasn't falling, then why was the wind so -?

"Psyche."

The voice in her ear was both familiar and strange. It sounded old, older than she could comprehend – but beside that, it was the twin of the voice which kept her husband's house. A spirit of the air.

Psyche comprehended only one thing: this spirit was stopping her fall. She began to thrash against the wind, hoping to free herself from its pull. She span in its embrace, sending herself tumbling head over heel.

"Psyche, I will not release you until you listen to me."

"Let me die!" she shouted, in a voice hoarse from pain. "I deserve it! I killed her! She was my sister and I killed her!"

"She died by her own hand."

"Driven by my words!"

"Her own hand, not yours," the spirit repeated. "You told her she could take your husband for her own. Her jump blasphemed against her own marriage and her kin's. In the eyes of the gods, you bear no guilt."

Psyche shut her eyes. "What do I have left to live for? My husband is dead. My home is ruins. I am left with nothing."

"And what of the child?"

"Child?" Psyche gasped as her eyes flew open. She had not considered – that changed everything. Some part of him lived on. She could not bring herself to end that.

Suddenly, she felt her feet touch solid rock, and the wind disappeared. She sagged to the ground, feeling weak with emotion. Her hair was tangled and her clothes dirtied, but only one question came to her lips.

"Wait!" she called after the spirit. "What shall I do? What shall I do for my child?"

"Sacrifice."

It was little more than a whisper on the wind, one she could barely believe she had truly heard, but she took it into her heart and guarded it fiercely.

She would sacrifice.

 

It was a strange city, for she had chosen to cross the mountains rather than risk returning to her father's kingdom. She had foraged for food on the road, and begged for what little she could convince her fellow travellers to part with. It was not a great amount, and even the smallest of sacrifices would leave hunger gnawing in her belly come nightfall, but she was determined.

There were many temples here, one to every god she'd ever heard of and many more besides. But there was only one temple for her today.

She approached the altar hesitantly, dropping her coins into the priestess's hands.

"Aphrodite," she pleaded. "Keep my loves safe."

The priestess met her eyes, but she did not speak the ritual reply. For a second, Psyche wondered if her offering would be refused. It was almost unheard of, but then she was little more than a beggar woman now…

Suddenly, the priestess began to shake, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Psyche knew the signs. This was another oracle, this time unasked for. She wanted to back away, to flee before the fates could further unbalance her life – but the goddess Aphrodite was talking to her, and she could do nothing but fall to her knees in reverence.

"Enter Hades…" the otherworldly voice hissed. "Seek Persephone's beauty… there is no other hope for you."

The priestess dropped to the ground, and for a second, no-one moved. Then began a sudden surge forwards, as priestesses and supplicants alike sought understanding.

By the time anyone turned to the girl kneeling on the floor, she was long gone.

 

Psyche tore out of the city as fast as her legs would carry her, slowing to a walk only when she could no longer draw the breath to sprint. She found herself in an empty field.

"I shall not!" She shouted at the sky. "I will not seek death! Not when our child still needs me!"

She shuddered, suddenly afraid that the goddess would strike her down for this defiance. She might have welcomed the gods' punishment once, but now she had too much left to live for to want to throw her life away. Her child was worth more than a gamble on the gods' mercy.

The thought almost made her laugh. Had she believed once that the gods were merciful? Perhaps her defiance was ignored because the gods listened naught to those beyond the temple walls.

Entering Hades. She was truly cursed, now. Persephone's beauty was death itself…

Well, Psyche had been cursed before.

"I will not enter Hades without a fight," she promised herself.

A sudden crack echoed through the air and she froze, certain that Aphrodite would smite her for her blasphemous thoughts, but instead the ground beneath her feet began to quake and a jagged fissure burst open in the rock.

Psyche gazed at it in wonder, her mind spinning with a new interpretation of Aphrodite's words. She had heard of portals to Hades before, through which the living could enter the kingdom of the underworld unharmed – but she had never thought she would see one with her own eyes.

She stared into the darkness of the split rock. It was barely wide enough for her to fit through, and the ground continued to quake threateningly. It could close at any moment.

If she jumped and her suspicions were wrong, she would certainly die. But if she did not jump, she might miss her one opportunity to survive the fate the oracle had cast for her.

Murmuring a prayer to any god who might be listening, Psyche jumped into the darkness.

 

She crashed heavily to the ground, too relieved to have landed at all to care about the jolt to her legs. The fall had lasted longer than she had thought possible, and it took several long, juddering breaths before she was calm enough to open her eyes.

She had crumpled in a wide hallway, shimmering obsidian in eerie green torchlight. She could see no-one, but as fear began to sharpen her awareness of her surroundings, Psyche realised there was a low sound in the background – the constant whisper of a million voices reduced to the faintest itch only just above the threshold of hearing.

"Is anyone there?" she called, her voice shaking a little. She had left the mortal realms behind her. Here, she was a trespasser, and powerless against any she was likely to encounter.

"How have you come here, as-yet-mortal?" Psyche did not start at the voice, or even at the sudden appearance of its source, a beautiful woman dressed entirely in black who had seemed to melt out of the shadows.

"A portal opened for me," she answered, hastily straightening her clothes. "A fissure in the earth. I leapt through it and landed here."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "But you surely knew that such a portal would lead you into Hades. Whyever did you jump?"

Psyche got to her feet, looking the woman directly in the eye.

"I am fated by oracle to enter Hades and seek Persephone's beauty," she informed the spirit. "But I will not accept death."

The woman laughed. "Rebellion! Delightful. But there is always a way around an oracle, for those strong enough to find it."

"And mine is half-fulfilled." Psyche let herself speak proudly. "I will survive and bear the child within me, for all that my husband is dead of my own foolish disobedience."

"Perhaps you may," the spirit smiled somewhat viciously, and Psyche shivered. "But I can promise you this. You will not find your husband in _this_ land."

"He lives?"

"He does not dwell here yet." The spirit frowned. "Tell me, mortal, what do you know of Persephone's beauty?"

Psyche burned to know more about her lost husband – lost but not yet dead? – but she did not wish to anger this spirit, and she recited what little she knew of the myth.

"Persephone has beauty beyond compare, but to lay a hand of it is the touch of death."

The spirit smiled as though Psyche had passed a test. "For mortals, yes. But not for me. Come."

She turned and began to saunter down the corridor, but Psyche hesitated to follow. The spirit glanced back, and Psyche stumbled forward to the doorway she had just entered.

"This box –" She could not possible have moved fast enough to retrieve it without Psyche seeing, but then who was to say she had not truly pulled it from thin air? – "Contains a speck of Persephone's beauty. If you can carry it to the surface, then I believe your oracle will be completed."

"But – Persephone?" Psyche asked. "I am in her house. I cannot steal from her, especially not something so precious."

The woman smiled. "You have her permission."

She was no spirit.

Psyche swallowed and dropped her gaze, kneeling awkwardly. "My lady, apologies, I –"

"Rise, Psyche." The goddess pulled her to her feet, and rested a hand against her cheek. "Courage is a rarer gift than you know. Complete this quest, and I believe Aphrodite's oracle will fall in your favour. Either way, you will get what you deserve."

Her laugh made Psyche shudder as the hand was withdrawn, and in that moment's distraction the goddess and the corridor had vanished and she found herself on a narrow path, clutching the box tightly.

She wanted to glance around to find her bearings, but she stopped herself. Tonight, she walked the path of Orpheus.

This was no time to look back.

 

The walk itself was not hard, and the weeks since the destruction of her home had toughened her. The dim light was no insurmountable obstacle, nor was the path itself, though it was at times narrow, or steep, or crumbling, or difficult to discern. No, this was no challenge.

These hardships paled in comparison to the voices.

They began quietly, as that murmur she had noticed in the corridor, so low that no words could be heard. But gradually, gradually, the volume grew, and the sentences became clear.

"You betrayed him…" they whispered. "You couldn't stop yourself looking. Weak. Foolish. Coward."

"I am all that and more."

"You believed a petty lie. You ruined everything. You almost destroyed your own child…"

"Murderer!" Her sister's shriek caused her to stumble, but she did not fall. "You killed me!"

"I did." She confessed. "I sought revenge for my pain, and though I gained it I wish I could bring you back. But it cannot be done."

"Selfish! All you care about it yourself!"

"I must fight for my child's life ahead of yours."

For a moment, the voices fell silent. Then –

"What's in the box, Psyche?"

She bit her lip.

"What does it look like? I bet no mortal has ever seen that before… Surely a peek wouldn't hurt?"

It will kill me, she told herself, but her mouth was suddenly dry and she could not say the words aloud.

"How do you know there's even anything in there?" The voices taunted. "Perhaps the box is empty. Perhaps it was all a trick. Perhaps that wasn't Persephone at all…"

She tried not to look at the box, but she couldn't ignore the weight of it in her palm. It would be so easy to simply lift the lid…

"Just one look…" The voices echoed eerily. "Don't you want to know?"

Just one don't you want look want to know just want to look want look know want know know _know_ –

"No!"

She had thought that before. One look could hurt. One look had nearly destroyed everything. She would not make that mistake again.

"I won't look!"

The voices fell quiet again, and she braced herself for the next onslaught.

"Psyche."

She had expected something bad, but the thrill of recognition brought her to a halt. More than anything, she wanted to turn around, but now more than ever she knew she mustn't. She shook with the effort of keeping herself still.

"I was told you did not dwell in this place."

He laughed, a sound so familiar it ached. "I came to see you. But we are once more in darkness. How did you find your way here?"

"I have a quest to complete."

He sighed. "As do I. Psyche –" he stepped closer to her, so close she could feel his breath on her neck. "I do not know what will happen to us. I wish I could promise your safety, but – All I know is that your path to the surface is short, and that I very much hope to see you once more in daylight. Good luck, my love."

He was true to his word. She emerged, blinking, into the sunlight before the tears had dried on her cheeks.

 

Everyone fell silent as the strange woman stumbled into the temple.

"Hear me goddess!" she spoke, the voice echoing over the crowd. "I bring you Persephone's beauty."

She held aloft a small box. Those nearest to her recoiled.

"Do you accept my offering?"

Unseen, immortals debated.

"Impudence!" hissed Aphrodite. "She defies my oracles, and claims that to which she has no right."

"She is my wife!" Eros protested.

"I have made my judgement," Zeus reminded her. "Your boy has caused too much trouble. It is time that he was married, and he has claimed this mortal. Half the spirits on Olympus have been petitioning me on her behalf! You had your oracle, and still could not dissuade her. Let them be."

Aphrodite glared at him and her son both.

"Mother – please…"

She sighed. "I only want the best for you. But if my King commands it –" Zeus nodded – "Then I must grant my blessing."

The crowd watched in awe as the strange woman dissolved in a shower of golden light.

 

There was not even a moment's disorientation before she recognised him, the face she had glimpsed but once, but which was forever burned into her memory.

"I'm sorry," she gasped as they embraced. "I ruined everything."

"It was my fault," he murmured in return. "I can't believe you found me again."

There would be time for explanations later – more time than Psyche knew. But for now, they were together again, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
